Troubles Test our Faith

“My brothers and sisters, when you have many kinds of troubles, you should be full of joy, because you know that these troubles test your faith, and this will give you patience.” James 1:2-3

I meet with a handful of teens each week at “Pop with Pastor”. We gather at a local restaurant, I pay for drinks, and we simply chat. It isn’t a Bible study or prayer group, simply an expression of my love for the students, and an opportunity to make myself available to them. Each week on Wednesday six to a dozen of us get together for about an hour.

A Better Place

A Better Place

“But as it is, they aspire to a better land, that is, a heavenly one. Therefore, God is not ashamed to be called their God, for he has prepared a city for them.” Hebrews 11:16

It seems we always want something more, something better than what we currently possess. Five years ago we purchased our first automobile with that new-car-smell (translation, first “non-used” car). It is nice, economical, and we enjoy having something that doesn’t break down every month or so. But, I have discovered it is not enough. Now, I want a new car, but with more room, better electronics, and seat warmers. After the first year of “new car” wore of, the desire for something better began to take root.

Keep the Pace

Keep the Pace

(“For you have need of endurance, so that when you have done the will of God, you may receive what was promised.” Hebrews 10:36)

Today you marked the cycle,
three years since the trauma,
two years unremembered,
and one running for your life.

You see better than ever,
you grieve sooner and complete,
you believe truer and clear,
you feel deeper and trust
the elements of hope, the
clouds sliding down the slopes
of the hills surrounding
you only remind you of lively green
lately springing where sharply obsidian
nights obscured your view.

You woke today and you kept up the pace,
the pain cried, the past rang like a false alarm,
but, your feet on the ground, your eyes reaching
for the finish line,
you found your team cheering you on,
some have finished the race, and some beside you,
all you hear to keep you running
is the rhythm of uncounted feet still
reaching for more than they ever earned.

And, on the occasional glance, you spot the few,
joy their prize, waiting your grand finale,
breathing in unison as you round the final turn.

It is to love we are born, and joy the soundtrack
on our way home.

If I Were

If I Were

(“For by a single offering he has perfected for all time those who are being sanctified.” Hebrews 10:14)

If I were to take to the sky, unload the anger,
unleash the whys; what in the clouds would hinder
the upward incline of uncluttered vision.

Blocking my eyes, shading the wounds from
the heat of another burst of flame,
scars never form, but remain lesions of pain;
downward toward rarified slow motion.

Clutching the fire, containing its blasts,
the heart is burned from the inside out.
Stooping in anger, throwing flame and calling it
another blooming flower only
bounces off the ear and leaves the air unbreathable.

If I were to stand above the treeline,
look across the peaks of rugged time,
make my moment last an hour,
drink the thermos slowly like a
doubter
running the truth over his tongue;

If I sat atop the silent apogee; shade
banished with the trees,
and understand the ease with which
You call me perfected; (You call me
easily, You love me painfully);

If I did, if I fly, if I stand, if I sit,
the silence would find the hidden design
You have been creating from before my
attempted climb to labored precision.

Still in gliding, the old wounds riding the wind
and dying; motionless and standing at the apex smiling;
perfection is meant for gods. And God’s perfection
is an inside job I nearly had forgotten.

Finished!

“After Jesus had taken the vinegar, he said, ‘It is finished!’ Then he bowed his head and died.” John 19:30

A good friend of mine in our church told me how he likes to read the stories in the Bible. “I like to imagine myself right there, in the middle of what is happening,” he said. “It helps me get a feel for what is happening, and what the people were experiencing at that time.”

Find Me

Find Me

(“The Lord God has told us what is right   and what he demands: ‘See that justice is done, let mercy be your first concern, and humbly obey your God.’” Micah 6:8)

Magnify the road we walk,
the uphill path across the i-beam shadows
of trees on the left and a stream on the right.
Do not journey alone on the path made for
more
than single file silence. The wordless ways
we speak are shared in breathless rhythms.

The early autumn recites the first frost
and so our hoods are pulled tightly overhead,
our fingers holed up inside our sweatshirt sleeves.
By noon we sweat, as autumn demands our attention
before ice replaces frost below the footprints we
lay down today.

Repeats of family hikes, reverie of first friends
wandering the hills, squandering the day, living
on coca cola and trail mix; hoping to see wildlife,
taking our time. We forget the days fade so quickly
come October’s dominance and sway.

Branches lie strewn on the forest floor, remnants
of life unattached. The decay begins the moment the
wind bends it beyond nature’s hinge; yet still it hides
life beneath its sundried core scattering at first movement
or light.

The writer is dim today, and longer than autumn should allow.
Joy with a handful, laughter unabashed and a trip to the
Grand Canyon
might swell the life he dropped on the way, tumbling along
the chalky cliff with orange gloves still waving from outcrops
between the cracks.

Too late to return and find it before darkness cover our tracks.

Find me merciful, please, though I’ve lost most of my companions.
Find me humble, still, but ready. Point me, and, though I do
not
recognize the way
I will still say, “Lead me”. But, on this
October day,
I’d prefer another who understand my solitude,
my silence and can cure me to the bold man I once knew
in May.

Who Meets Our Needs

“A high priest like (Jesus) meets our need. He is holy, pure and without blame. He isn’t like other people. He does not sin. He is lifted high above the heavens.” Hebrews 7:26

Jesus has been presented as an intercessor between God and man, a “go-between” if you will. But, it usually is taught that, because man is sinful and God is perfect, we need someone to represent us before God. Flammable humans simply cannot endure the Holy Flame. There is a certain truth to that; yet I believe it may be over-emphasized.

I've Been Distracted

I've Been Distracted

(“I made Your name known to them and will make it known, so the love You have loved Me with may be in them and I may be in them.” John 17:26)

I’ve carried my share, the load, plus time, plus weighty thinking,
have worn me down the month, this week, this day, this moment.
I’ve missed the trail occasionally, like a house pup off the leash
for the first time,
following new scents into the brush, stopping at worms and grubs,
chasing bluebirds and making friends with squirrels in the trees.

I admit I’ve been distracted.

I carried my pack the distance, and though I’ve heard you say
Your love dwells within me, I can no longer go the distance.
Do you see this building You’ve asked me to erect?
Do you see it go up a story or two? Do you see me rejoice
that my work still has meaning? Then, do you see workers
leave, wallboard crumble, while I can stumble at only half
my previous speed?

There is nothing I want more than to carry this load to
the finish line. But, as the path ascends drawing deeper
breaths from aching legs, my work descends drawing
longer tears from stumbling knees. I wish I could lay there
and a Samaritan would see the invisible crush of weight,
the slow-poke and quick-wincing traits caused by the
unseen pain. And my eyes are dark within a 6-sided
box lined with lead.

Though You say, Jesus, my Only Hope, my Only Day,
I would wither away, hollow and floating upon the next
offshore breeze;
but You have me cornered, my final job I believe; and

I am failing miserably. Pain the narcotic, depression the poison,
time the deduction that have stolen the steam-rolled magic
and dependence that created followers and friends forever.
My heart is now well-walled (I am deeply sorry) and frightened.

It is late in the day, so late, and the chilly winds are blowing before
I may never see another summer. I beg You my Best Father/Mother,
give me the one gift just one more time. Align your love in me,
the gifts you’ve grace in me, and let nothing but grace pour,
please, I will not let you go until I know you have heard me!
Please! Let the grace pour out…not a trickle, not a shaky hand
wet with sweat. Let it flood every encounter so no one remembers
my name or place of birth, but only the sweet, sweet flavor of
their hearts’ longing, the playful innocence and significance
that heals their daily hurts and sates all its hungers.

He Begged God

“God had the power to save Jesus from death. And while Jesus was on earth, he begged God with loud crying and tears to save him. He truly worshiped God, and God listened to his prayers.” Hebrews 5:7

People have countless images of Jesus. We view Him as the Super-Human miracle-worker slashing demons with a single word. Or, we see Him as the compassionate Healer, touching the sick and restoring them to health. He is the Good Shepherd, tenderly leading His sheep to safety. He is the fearless Master of Creation, stilling the storm with His voice.

My Quiet is White

My Quiet is White

(“The Lord your God is with you.  He is mighty enough to save you. He will take great delight in you.  The quietness of his love will calm you down.  He will sing with joy because of you.” Zephaniah 3:17)

I shout from the wilderness of the invisible illnesses; pain and
psychic refrains which repeat the black hole madness that it is only
air that keeps me alive. My pillow remains tearstained long after I
rise and feel the explosive tears like lava ready to flow hot again by noon.
Each one that falls asks, “Where are you?”

It was fine for a time, when friends were just a block away. Dale
in his garage, rebuilding his 66 VW bug engine, or riding up my driveway
on his Honda 450. There is no one closer than a day’s drive. And,
since You are all-knowing, I know you will answer, “and you were lonely
back then too, weren’t you?” That’s my argument, my pain, my agony,
and my plea: If you are mighty enough, why haven’t you saved me yet
from me?

I’ve told you about all this before, how many who once made my heart
bounce like a spring picnic with the few faces who never gave away
the accidentally spilled secrets and wine. I’ve told you before that,
among the dearest of them also were lying faces who lie from top
to bottom with lips that once kissed my cheek in welcome. I am
finished with friendship, unless, in Your delight in me, you
pour perfumed salve in the wounds, and bring back to my path
one or two with unlocked hearts who won’t try to crack my
own combination.

My quiet is my white noise. Sound annoys me. I would welcome
an unknown who simply opened my front door and wiped my tears
without a word,
than having to answer the pounding; doors are startling;
or the ringing; phones are disheartening.

If You will love me silently, then please silence me preemptively.

Now singing, that’s what I need. Let the other three or four begin,
and let me just join in when I’m ready. You know the music that
started like buggies over potholes; but we supposed it was better
to play,
than to keep our instruments locked within their cases. Sing,
like Fire and Rain, and the Hallelujah Chorus again.*

*If anyone who reads this feels the lonely shadow instead of the
lovely presence; now you know you are not the only one: friend?

Us Pause

Us Pause

(“I’ll tell my good friends, my brothers and sisters, all I know about you; I’ll join them in worship and praise to you.” Hebrews 2:12 [The Message])

As the word went round the circle, mouth to mouth
the quotes and opinions spun; each word hastily proclaimed
like a king or prince or monarch on the run. We were quite
glad for the stories and judgments laid down, for they reminded us
how different, how silver, how shiny we have become. No one
has opinions any more, no estimates or guesses; just a rockslide
of well-worn facts without footnotes; leaving no argument
available for the person cradling coffee alone, silent
at the next table.

We know too much, we echo the findings of our favorite
hole-puncher,
and stutter grain-sized worship that falls upon the carpet
to be vacuumed with the mud and dust later in the afternoon.

Oh Christ, our Love, our Pioneer into our uncharted souls,
Your silence is more eloquent than our flappery, aglow with
patience while we predict the next planetary virus will wipe
out the worst of them-not-us.

Oh Son of Man, our Song, our Conductor into concerted whole,
Your song over them, over us, over all, breaks our hearts,
numbs our tongues until we’ve learned the chorus so well
we no longer tell unrestrained stories to back our cause;

You, our only option, have given us pause…

To begin the ballad sweeter and deeper from front
to end.

At Peace/In Pain

“I leave behind with you—peace; I give you my own peace and my gift is nothing like the peace of this world. You must not be distressed and you must not be daunted.” John 14:27

I had a very bad day yesterday. The pain level was a bit higher than normal and I can often power through a day like that. But depression hit very hard as well. I was in tears at some time throughout most of the day. Add to that the anxiety of teaching Romans 1 in our midweek Bible study. (Read the chapter and you’ll understand my apprehensions. It is probably one of the most misused of all Scripture to attack our homosexuality in particular, and all sin in general. As we neared the end of the chapter I told our group, “Please keep reading, because Paul kept writing.”)